


Sucker Twin

by gloss



Category: DC Comics
Genre: M/M, Red Hood - Freeform, Tentacles, kink bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-16
Updated: 2010-07-16
Packaged: 2017-10-11 09:56:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/111148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/pseuds/gloss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Heard about your almost-kin touching skin/Oh, I feel you like an evil wind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sucker Twin

**Author's Note:**

> **setting:** Um, roughly current continuity (Dick is Batman, Bruce is gone, Damian is Robin, Tim is back) but not actually partaking of any specific canon. _Especially_ not Morrison's ginger!Jason. The only concrete spoilers are for [Nightwing #122](http://asylums.insanejournal.com/scans_daily/395210.html?format=light) (2006).  
> **other notes:** Title and summary from BSS, "Ungrateful Little Father" (aka the Batfamily song) [[lyrics](http://www.brokensocialscene.ca/discography-spotlight.php?search=AC054)]. For the "tentacles" square on my [](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**kink_bingo**](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/) [card](http://gloss.dreamwidth.org/60963.html?#cutid1). Beta by my beloved and longsuffering G.

  
One night, just as the rescue from a collapsed skyway is nearly complete, a cable snaps. A teenager, just a scrawny kid named Emmanuel, slips and falls three stories and breaks his neck.

Dick is three seconds too late to catch him.

*

About a week later, one of the warehouses down at the harbor explodes. The Fire Department finds traces of illegal chemicals stored there and writes it off as an unfortunate accident. Dick isn't so sure. The warehouse stood just next to one that Jay had used when he was Red Hood and surveillance footage shows a man of roughly his stature entering the premises on several occasions before the explosion.

*

Two days after that, Dick is crouched on the roof of a brownstone, staking out the condo across the street.

"We have cameras and mics for a reason," Oracle reminds him over the comm.

"Yeah, yeah." He shifts his weight off his bad knee and refocuses his binoculars. "I like it up here."

"Incoming," she tells him. "Look alive."

He tenses, just a bit, and holds his breath. He should know better, but it's been a long week. Long month, even longer year.

Nothing happens. The dinner party in the apartment next to his target continues; the sirens wail across Gotham; the breeze toys with his cape.

It took him a good week to get used to wearing a cape again.

He's never going to get used to having his face covered.

"O?" he asks.

He looks around, turning in a full circle and scanning up and down, but sees nothing different.

She chuckles, then cuts the line.

Dick stands up and doesn't let himself wince at the creaky ache in his knee.

"Come out, come out wherever you are." The singsong carries from the next rooftop. "World's greatest detective, my beautiful ass."

Next to the utilities shed on that roof, Jason leans casually, arms crossed.

"Hey!"

He waves at Dick with three fingers. "Toodles!"

"Get over here," Dick calls.

"Sorry!" Jason shakes his head. "Later, gorgeous."

Before Dick can get to the edge of his roof, Jason has dropped into the alley. When Dick makes the edge, Jay is already out of sight, vanished into the city.

*

It is another eight days before Jay appears again. This time, Dick is helping clear the scene after a wanna-be mad scientist (really just a kid who lost the final round of the Westinghouse talent search) detonates a homemade chemical bomb in the middle of Dixon Plaza.

"Need a hand?" These days, Jay is back to wearing his body armor and leather jacket, red mask like a scar over his eyes.

Dick hands off an evidence bag to the police tech. "No."

"Shame." Jay whistles and kicks the gravel with his boot. Eventually, he adds, "So I guess you're pretty busy?"

Dick snaps the cape and gestures to take in the devastation. "Yeah, I think I am."

"Lion's Head," Jay says. "Thursday, two o'clock."

"What?"

"You heard me. And that's two o'clock in the *afternoon*, my lovely child of the night."

A uniformed officer appears behind Jason, but before Dick or the cop can say anything, Jay punches him and vaults over the wrought-iron fence.

*

Back when Jason was a kid, when he'd just become Robin and Dick was newly Nightwing, things were different. Maybe not all that different, honestly, because Jay's always been an obnoxious loudmouth and Dick always distrusted him, but at least they were friendly. Friendlier. Almost friendly.

At any rate, the point was that Jason was prickly and rude, crude and occasionally stupid, but he was also a *kid*. His guard was up, but it was transparent, easily dismantled. He was so hungry for attention, so disbelieving of its sincerity, that he'd do just about anything to keep it coming. That included, one memorable afternoon, showing Dick the rock formation in the heart of Robinson Park where he'd lived the previous summer. It was just an outcropping, like the rest of the park's elements artfully scattered by the nineteenth-century designer to suggest natural wildness and the slow, groaning retreat of glaciers.

Very little in Gotham was authentic, now that Dick thinks about it.

He is half an hour early on a beautiful afternoon. He sits crosslegged on the smallest rock, one of the lion's ears, with a travel mug of coffee and only his memories to keep him company.

Back then, Jason was still scrawny, still jumpy at the least little noise, when he'd led Dick into the lean-to formed by some of the rocks. The dirt at their feet was scattered with used rubbers and scraps of newspaper, take-out clamshells and forgotten shoes without mates.

"Fucking trashed it," Jason muttered and kicked at the garbage. The rock walls were scrawled with graffiti and etched with declarations of love and hate. "Hey, here's mine --"

**JPT** was scratched in an almost Gothic script, followed by the date.

"Did that when I moved in," he told Dick. He dropped to a catcher's squat and patted the dirt. "C'mon, take a load off."

Dick remembers not knowing what to say. The place smelled like rot, dead vegetation and sad human loneliness, and he could picture all too clearly this angry little kid sleeping all rolled up in the far corner, one eye open, knife in his hand.

The knife made it his, claimed the cave with his initials.

"Aww, all dressed up for me?" Jay says behind him now and kicks Dick in the kidneys. Dick tucks into the fall and somersaults to the great lawn.

He flops onto his back like the other sunbathers and looks up at Jason, still at the rock. "I'm here," he says. "What do you want?"

Jay shakes his head and jumps down. "Nothing. Just wanted to see if you'd show."

Dick sits up. "I did."

In the daylight, Jason looks almost like a kid again. Just a handsome guy in an ancient band shirt that's too tight around his upper arms and chest and a pair of cords pale at the knees with wear. He cocks his head and punches Dick in the shoulder. "What?"

"Nothing," Dick says. He points at the rocks. "Surprised that survived --"

"Huh?"

He swallows and looks away. "Right, you weren't here for the quake."

Jason's on his feet now. "I was here."

"You --" This always happens around Jay. Dick has no way of knowing what's true, what's bullshit. He doesn't know what to say or how to say it or even what the hell he's doing here in the first place.

The only other person who is this frustrating is *Bruce*, for God's sake.

But if he ever told Jay that, the ensuing tantrum would level the entire city.

"Forget it," Dick says. If Jay were here during the quake, then things were even worse for him than they'd thought. The fact of it punches him in the gut, shoves all the breath out of his lungs.

Jay smirks at him. He's dark against the bright day, sharp and dark. "This is real nice, spending time together like this."

*

They meet up almost regularly after that. Dick buys the beer, Jay lets him into whatever safehouse or fort he's using that week, serves pizza or lo mein or bulgogi. They even go to a couple Knights games together.

It's screwed up, to be sure, but it makes Alfred smile when he doesn't know Dick's watching. And it really annoys Damian, which is even better.

None of that is to say that it's *easy* to be with Jay. There are shoals and pitfalls, landmines and tiger traps, lying in wait in every conversation.

What is the etiquette for talking about what someone missed while they were dead? With Clark, it's easy, but, then, everything is easy with Clark. Dick's never made much conversation with Green Arrow, so there's no guidance there. Donna always winces when this kind of thing comes up, so Dick avoids the topic.

With Jay, of course, everything is different and none of the usual rules or habits or, god help him, *instincts*, apply.

I'm sorry you died, Dick wants to say. He should say. I really did miss you.

Jay wouldn't believe him. Jay wouldn't even let him get the words out.

In a way, Dick's grateful for that.

*

"You don't have to do this," Tim tells him. They're on Dick's motorcycle, so he speaks over the wireless link; Tim has to be the only teenager who _brings his own helmet_. "Clark's the one who collects strays."

Dick takes the right turn a little sharply and Tim tightens his hold. "Thought that was Bruce."

Tim doesn't laugh at that. Dick thought it was pretty funny.

They go another twenty blocks before Tim speaks again. "You can't rescue everyone, that's all."

Dick lets the wind slap his face for a good long while.

"Dick?"

"Yeah," Dick says and guns the engine. "I know."

*

The crazy thing is that Dick enjoys the company. He can't front with Jason, he doesn't have to be on, he can just -- *be*. Jay doesn't give a shit and if Dick tries anything, they end up decking it out, then have another beer.

It's like being on the force back in the Haven. Just living a guy's life, for a couple hours at a time, anyway.

*

Of course, the good time couldn't last forever. This is Dick's life. This is *Jason*.

This is Gotham, Jake.

Half a dozen lieutenants of the south-side Tigers gang turn up dead in the pit at a building site. When that doesn't slow their drug trade, the home of the Tigers' defense lawyer explodes.

"You know, if J. were anyone else, we'd call him a terrorist," Barbara says.

Dick pretends to laugh. "That's not funny."

"I'm not joking."

"Come on, O., that's --"

"Listen, *N*," she says and stresses the old code name. He'll never be *B* and they all know that. They're just marking time all over again. "If he were brown, if he had a religious agenda? He'd be a terrorist, plain and simple."

"He's not like that."

"Really?"

Before he can reply, she cuts the link.

*

"Why're you doing this?" Jay asks.

They're in an old corporate apartment of WayneTech, unused for a good couple years. The dust makes them both sneeze, but neither's going to show weakness first.

"Doing what?"

Jay waves his hand. "All of this. Grabbing a beer, hanging out. Fucking _talking_ like I'm your hippie shrink just panting for a chance to help you process your deep and numerous feelings."

"I --" Dick swallows. "That's not --"

"Fuck you, that's exactly it." Jay leans back and knocks his shoulder against Dick's. "Exactly it. I just wanna know why."

"Why?"

"Why? Why?" Jay mimics in high-pitched singsong. Then he drops his voice almost as deep as the Bat's. "Because I fucking want to know, that's why. C'mon, _Richard_. You love talking so much, tell me why."

Dick rolls his beer bottle in his palms. "I just --" He exhales. "Look, don't you have a building to go blow up or something?"

Jay smiles, all teeth, nothing in the eyes. "Easier for you, isn't it?"

Dick doesn't reply.

"Isn't it?" Jay's breath pools hot on Dick's neck. His stubble whispers against Dick's skin. "Isn't it easier? Make me the bad guy, so you're scot free?"

"I'm not a bad guy."

Jay laughs and the rumble goes through Dick. "No, you're beautiful and pure and clean of heart and never have a moment of doubt, do you?"

"I didn't say that." Dick straightens his spine and parts his legs. He could spring to his feet any moment. He's ready. He could be gone in a flash. "I never said that."

"Didn't have to." Jay bites Dick's neck and twists away, feinting left, as Dick takes a swing. He laughs as he rolls back up to his feet. "Oh, _Richard_. Dickiebird, so fucking predictable."

Dick is on his feet now, hands in loose fists, gravity bouncing around the balls of his feet, adrenaline careening, quick and tonic as alcohol, through his veins.

"You're the one who's predictable," he says and steps forward.

Jay backs up against the wall, palms up, and shakes his head. "Never said I wasn't."

"Never --" Dick pauses and reconsiders.

Jay grins again and tips up his chin. "I'm an old, old playbook, bro. I got two speeds, angry and crazy, that's it. You know that better'n me."

The spot where Jason bit him throbs. Dick jerks his head, even though his hair's too short to get in his eyes. Just habit.

Jason stares at him. He bites the inside of his cheek, sucks it hollow, as the other side of his mouth curls up. The light falls such that his eyes are shadowed, just a couple glints in the dark, but the bottom half of his face, the sharp angle of his jaw, is bright.

"Like what you see?" Jay asks and thrusts his hips forward, ticks them back and forth, metronomes and solicitations.

No one knows what he did on the streets. Not before Bruce found him, not after he came back. The sullen little pout, though, and hip-twitch, those are all too familiar from any number of visits Dick has made to the john's stroll in the East End.

He backs up and shakes out his hands. "C'mon, Jay, let's just --"

"Just what?"

Dick sighs. His eyes hurt; he just wants to rest. "I don't fucking know. Let's just stop --"

"Tell me what you're doing, then." Jay knocks his head back against the wall. "Simple question, simple enough even for a stupid pretty boy like you."

There are times when it's worth fighting and times when it's just better to drop it. Dick knows that all too well. He also knows that Jason's just an asshole, just an obnoxious, pissed-off guy who'll say whatever he wants to get a rise out of you.

He *knows* this.

"Lie to me," Jay whispers. He steps toward Dick, closer and closer. "C'mon, make me smile. Gimme what I want."

"I don't know what you want," Dick admits.

Jay's right back in his face, beer-sour breath and light stubble, but this time Dick can see his eyes, the set of his jaw, the fuzz of his brow.

They're exactly the same height.

Bruce couldn't have planned his replacement better, short of cloning him.

"Tell me."

"I --" Dick shrugs. What does he want to know? Why Dick comes around, why they're hanging out? It's obvious. Obvious to anyone not *insane*, maybe. "Isn't that what family does? You're my brother, so --"

Jay explodes. Claps his hands, then grabs Dick by the shoulders, headbutts and knees him simultaneously. He shoves Dick away, shouts incomprehensibly, overturns the side table. The lamp there shatters and spits sparks.

Dick rolls with the blow and tries to shake off the pain.

Jay kicks him again, then drops to one knee like a hopeful groom. "Stupid, stupid fucker. I'm not your brother."

Dick spits blood. "No, huh?"

"Never."

He brushes his knuckles over Dick's cheek, down his jaw, over his chin, down his throat. The blow still resounds through Dick's nerves, clanging and rattling. The gentle stroke just makes him more nauseous.

"So fucking pretty," Jay murmurs. "Beautiful, Jesus."

"So?" Dick says. His entire life, he's heard and it means less than nothing. He pushes himself up on his elbow. "What does that have to do with --"

"Everything." He leans in, eyes huge and blue, lashes brushing Dick's, lips pursed, and kisses him.

The kiss is long, and soft, and *sweet*.

The beer tang lifts from Jay's tongue and he finally just tastes good, so slick and good, opening his teeth, sucking Dick in. And Dick -- rolls with it, can't fight it, wraps his arm around Jay's neck and they roll over, across the broken lamp and dusty carpet. The kiss just keeps going, smacking and sliding, hungry grunts and clacking teeth. Jay's got both hands on Dick's face, holding him here, fingers digging into his hair, yanking him and damn near *inhaling* him.

Dick murmurs, a sound very far from language, and nips Jason's upper lip before pulling back for a breath. He rolls his forehead against Jay's and pants.

Jay plucks at Dick's shirt, at his waistband, making urgent little stuttering noises.

"Wait --" Dick tries to say. He doesn't want to stop -- when he has ever stopped? -- but he needs to think, he has to *think*, there are -- considerations. "Just --"

Jay looks up at him, mouth on Dick's throat, through his eyelashes. He narrows his eyes. "No."

"Jay --"

"No." Jay straddles him, one hand on Dick's throat, the other on his fly. He goes still and grins at Dick. "Ha, look good like this."

Dick breathes as slowly as he can.

"How many times've you done this?" Jason leans back slightly and grinds down. Dick's half-hard already; the weight and friction pulls him harder. "Rolled over, gave it up like such a good boy?"

Dick blinks and stays quiet.

They both know Dick can take him. That, so far as he can tell, isn't the point.

Jay fights dirtier, but Dick is -- better. Better trained, better loved, better.

Dick moans when Jason tugs down his fly and pushes his hand in. "Happy to feel me?"

"Jay, this isn't --"

Jay swipes his thumb across the head of his cock, rubs in the precum, then hocks and spits on his palm. He jerks Dick rough and hard; soon enough, Dick's fully hard, his hips coming off the floor, buttocks tensing.

"Why, I could just eat you up," Jay says and it's like he's addressing Dick's erection. Dick might as well not be here.

You're crazy, Dick thinks, but he doesn't actually *believe* it.

This is an act, like everything else, a mask and a play, theatrical and noisy.

This is false.

He's been on his back before, he's been violated. That's the truth.

This is nothing like that.

Jason's gaze flickers up and Dick rolls his head to loosen the hold on his throat. He pumps his whole body upward, undulating and forceful, pouring himself into Jason's grip. He lets himself moan and never looks away.

"Ha," Jay says hoarsely, almost quizzically.

Dick wiggles under his weight and spreads his legs a little.

"Please," he says and cranes his neck up.

After studying him, his hand absently jerking Dick painfully gently, Jay shrugs one shoulder and leans forward. He pulls Dick up with him and they're kissing again, faster and deeper than before. Dick gets one foot flat on the ground, wiggles for more leverage, and Jay makes an oof-noise when Dick manages to open his pants.

Jay's cock fills Dick's palm, hard and sticky already. They jerk together, grinding down, bucking up, Dick's face buried against Jay's neck.

"C'mon," Dick says, over and over, corkscrewing his hips, pants snagging on the floorboards, twisting his fist around Jay. It's a chant and a mantra and something much more than a plea. "C'mon, _come on_ \--"

Jason's head falls back, mouth open, as he fucks Dick's hand. He grabs Dick's wrist and wraps his own hand the other way around, and thrusts into their combined grip raggedly. He drops his grasp on Dick's cock and pushes up from the floor, panting and grunting.

"Yeah," Dick says, hearing a question in his own voice. "Yeah, Jay. C'mon."

Jason's head snaps forward and he kisses Dick again. He's all teeth this time, hard bony chin and sharp teeth, and he's on top of Dick now, screwing their hands and fucking his tongue into Dick's mouth.

"I gotta --" Jason tries to pull back and Dick holds him in place. "Fucker, I gotta let go --"

"Do it," Dick urges. Fuck if he knows *what* Jason wants, but his cock aches and throbs, his ass is tight, his *mouth* is yearning and empty. "Please, do it."

Jason's smile tilts strangely. He pulls all the way back, back onto his knees, and Dick takes the chance to yank his shirt off and wriggle his pants down his thighs. He gets one leg free and calls that a win.

Jay's cock is angry red, dark as his mask, in his pale hand. He jerks himself, lets his head fall back, and after an achingly long moment of still and silence, he shudders and starts to come on Dick. It's hot, then cold, the hot again, thick and slowly sliding down to his pubes.

"Yeah --" Dick starts to say but bites it off.

Jason shivers, all over, so hard that Dick bounces beneath him, before he collapses over Dick, mouth on Dick's chest, hands pushing Dick's arms over his head, cock pushing at Dick's. "I gotta --"

"Go on," Dick says. Adds, "I want you to."

Jay *writhes* above him. His mouth is huge, his hands are sliding up and down Dick's arms, he's pushing Dick's legs farther and farther apart. His tongue fills Dick's mouth; he's got Dick's wrists pinned over his head, but somehow he's still massaging all of Dick's arms. And all the while, it's as if he's wrapping a tongue around Dick's shaft and licking another, forceful path between his ass cheeks.

"Jay?" Dick chokes on the tongue in his mouth and wheezes a panicky breath through his nose. The thing above him is Jay, all right, his face and the general outline of his torso, but his mouth, his limbs, even his cock, have all -- grown. Elaborated, ramified, split into tangles of twisting tentacles, suckers all over Dick's skin and in his mouth, around his cock and balls, nudging apart his buttocks.

"Oh, god, oh --" He doesn't say no. He doesn't. He can't stop, any more than Jay can.

Jay moans when Dick speaks and the suckers on Dick's arm pulse with the sound.  
Dick's cock jumps in the hold, each sucker an extra mouth, tugging, dragging, on his shaft and the head, squeezing his balls until he can barely see past the fireworks arcing past his eyes. The thing at his ass moves like a tongue, lapping and circling, almost as *loving* as it is deliberate and firm, holding him open and working inside. He takes a breath and bears down, canting his hips up and sucking on the thing, thicker than any cock, scraping his palate.

There are shimmers blooming like bruises over his body, wherever he is touched, wherever he was touched, wherever Jay's about to touch him *next*. Time quivers and his skin tightens, then opens, splitting, pouring sensation out, back into the tentacles. Each sucker an aerie, pulling him free and wide. He jounces and shakes in Jay's hold, fucks back onto the thing up his hole, forward into the grasp on his cock, up and down the one in his mouth.

An orgasm wrenches through him, harder than any since the rough, desperate, untutored ones of early puberty. He keeps thrusting, shooting dry, his cock still hard.

He can't stop.

Jay murmurs around and inside and over him. There's *gratitude* somewhere, half a sensation and half an emotion, trembling into Dick's mind. Shimmering, solidifying, until he understands and then it winks out, vanishes.

He gurgles and swallows, licks the suckers in his mouth, tastes salt and sugar, sunshine and seabeds.

His nerves are exposed, tugged naked, each one kissed and nuzzled. They're bulbs in spring, delicate tendrils, each one arching into Jay's touch, spilling and coming and fucking again.

He blacks out, gets his breath back, just can't stop *moving*.

The one up his ass swells, catches and drags as it fucks him. He's filled to brimming, nearly split. Then it bulges bigger.

Another tentacle holds him up, tipped up off the floor, and the third sucks him off. Or jerks him. Drags out pleasure like a scouring pad and laves it back in. It's all so much and Dick takes it in and shoves forward, rocks between the two centers as he drools around what used to be Jay's tongue.

Inside you, Jason is saying, or thinking, or yearning, or all three and then some. Dick thrashes in response. He'd shout promises if he could, he'd ejaculate torrents if his balls weren't aching and empty, he'd do anything. And: need you.

Have me, Dick thinks, has been saying ever since he got here. He only hears himself now, only realizes how needy Jay's eyes are, how his pain and regret break Dick's heart but his smirk puts it back together, pieces missing and jumbled but it's the thought that counts. How much they both pretend, how they can't let go, how they must hold on.

Another tentacle, smaller, little more than a garden snake, probes inside Dick, deep inside. It shies away at the sight of bodies -- come one, come all, see the Graysons fall! \-- gone crumpled and still, prods elsewhere, finds the bat and a sweaty-haired Bruce. It rears back from the tilt of shoulders turned away and door shut. It shakes at whatever it feels, shakes along with Dick and in spite of him, then withdraws to stroke the child's back out of a nightmare.

It meets grief with grief and the company becomes comfort.

And Dick, god help him, curves into the embrace as the orgasm breaks, then persists, like a sun constantly rising, never getting higher, a morning on and on.

His only real gift is loving so hard everything, eventually, flees his grasp. Bruce, Babs. Kory. But it's all he's got and he arches one more time, shivering and shouting, coming and breaking.

He is wrung out and emptied, a sack of something, worthless but loved nonetheless. Bit by bit Jason withdraws, agonizingly slowly, shrinking back into human form, until blue eyes are familiar and calloused fingertips are all that touch. He kisses Dick's forehead and rubs his back and sponges him clean with one last, throbbing tongue. Then he lays Dick out on the floor and curls around him, arm supporting Dick's head, leg over Dick's hip, and Dick closes his eyes.

They stink of come and tears; they're stuck together, need as glue, and still shaking.

Dick's throat is scratched and sore. He sounds like a frog when he tries to speak. He coughs, and something rattles in his chest.

Finally, he says, "You said you got better."

Jay shows his teeth. "I lied."

Dick thumps him on the back. "Stop that."

"Make me," Jason says and tightens his hold.

[end]  



End file.
